


The Man with No Face

by dennyv61



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Angst, Detective!Kihyun, Drama & Romance, Horror, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Medium!Changkyun, Multi, Murder, Mystery, Sexual Content, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2019-11-15 18:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18078650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dennyv61/pseuds/dennyv61
Summary: "The detective and his criminal wear versions of the same mask." - Jane Roberts36-year old Kihyun works his days as a private investigator, tucking away his own past with each new commission. Upon starting a new case, he finds himself dragged into unfamiliar territories. With help from an eccentric yet frustrating witness, he begins to unravel the truth behind an ominous presence stalking the city.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So fair warning, this will be a fairly dark and slow story (by slow, I mean it's pacing is will be like chapters in a book. Also the romance is extremely slow-burn phew). Please read the warnings, and while nothing is going to be horribly graphic, this story will deal with the topics of death, suicide, and murder. I really hope people enjoy this because it's gonna be a *mark lee voice* long ass ride.

The rain won’t stop. There’s a distinct echo-ing, a constantly endless thrum on the windows and paneling. It’s been hours of muffled noise and darkened rooms, interrupted occasionally by the blinking street lights shining lazily through watery glass.

Kihyun coughs, exhaling the dust-riddled air from his lungs, before sliding his glasses off. Pulling out a cloth, he meticulously swipes across the lenses. _1 swirl, 2 swirls, 3 swirls_. His head is pounding in rhythm with the rain, and he glances at the time illuminated on his computer screen. It’s late. It’s Friday night. He thinks of the dinner party he’d been invited to, of his friends laughing over satisfyingly cheap wine.

Placing his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, he wishes he could just go home, just go join his friends. There was nothing keeping him here in his shabby dark office hours past close. His last case was closed, tucked away in the recesses of his drawers and in the digital database of his computer. A simple homicide: a man strangled by neon yellow shoestrings and left to rot in the boiler room of his apartment complex. He owed the wrong person too much money, a case of desperation gone horribly wrong.

Kihyun sits still, fingers tapping gently on stained wood. He can hear the steady crescendoing sound of footsteps and anticipates the double knock reverberating through his office door.

“Come in.” He rasps, coughing again as stale, recycled air hits the back of his throat.

The door swings open and his boss steps in, gently closing the door behind him. Shownu is a man of sturdy build, solid and formidable despite his soft features. To others, he might look stern, but Kihyun knows better, knows how the wrinkles creasing the other's forehead stretch long and steady with every new case. Shownu is a gentle soul, caught in a constricting job that wears his heart thin, and Kihyun wishes things could be different.

Approaching his desk, Shownu stops and shoves his hands into his pockets. His forehead adapts his signature crease, eyebrows furrowed as he observes the detective in front of him. Kihyun looks up, ceasing his tapping.

“What are you still doing here?” Shownu asks bluntly, his voice low and hesitant, something tittering on the tip of his tongue.

“Thinking.” Kihyun answers, unable to come up with a better answer. The office had closed at 6. The rooms were dark. The rain wouldn’t stop.

Shownu lets out a long breath, tongue caught between his teeth. He looks too stiff, and Kihyun knows what he’s going to say before the words leave his mouth.

“We have a new case.” Shownu says. The creases get more prominent.

He reaches into the bag slung over his shoulder, pulling out a manila file adorned with a brilliantly red “CONFIDENTIAL.” He gently places it on top of Kihyun’s desk, taking care to disturb the stale air as little as possible.

Kihyun doesn’t touch the document, instead raising his eyes to Shownu’s own, “What’s in it?”

“Double suicide. Two young boys.”

Kihyun blinks, “Suicide?” He shifts backward in his chair, interlacing his fingers.

His boss nods, “On paper, yes. One of the boy’s family believes differently.”

“They want us to look into it.” Kihyun doesn’t pose it as a question.

“They think the cause of death was called too quickly. It took less than a day.”

Kihyun cracks his neck, listens to the thrumming of the rain on the windows. Leaning forward, he opens the folder, eyes flickering over the text and images. His chest feels odd, twisted, unsteady as he gazes at the evidence. It’s gentle, unlike the usual displays he’s faced with. There’s a bathtub full of water, limbs intertwined in casual embrace, knuckles and cheekbones an otherly shade of white and blue. Cause of death: Suicide - Asphyxia. Overdose and subsequent drowning.

“There doesn’t seem to be… much to this.” Kihyun begins hesitantly, averting his eyes from the images. They seem too intimate, as though he’s intruding on something private.

Shownu sighs, “I know, but the family begged me. Said their son would never take his life, that he was the happiest he’d ever been.”

“They all say that.”

“I know.”

There’s a pause. Shownu looks sadly at Kihyun, the creases on his forehead stretching even thinner. The air is heavy with dust and resignation, and Kihyun closes his eyes.

“Ok. I’ll look into it.”

Shownu looks away, shoulders tense, the veins in his neck stark against tanned skin. A police car rolls by, it’s red and blue lights distorting across his features. They both listen to the pulsating siren, letting the high pitched scream harmonize with the thundering of rain.

Stepping towards the door, Shownu hesitates, hand on the frame, before looking back over his shoulder, “Go home, Kihyun. We’ll start this tomorrow.”

Kihyun dramatically salutes him, suppressing a chuckle at the eye roll he receives in return. When the door clicks shut, he slumps over his desk and eyes the manila document with apprehension. This kind of case aches with familiar desperation and blind hope. He’s seen it far too many times before. He hates the inevitable reality, hates explaining to families that the truth isn’t as insidious as they choose to believe. It’s funny, the idea that people would rather their loved ones be murdered than have taken their own lives. 

Kihyun looks outside, sees the wet, shimmering buildings, and decides to listen to his boss. The dust-filled air was getting too difficult to breathe. He tucks the document into his desk before standing up, grabbing his briefcase and sliding his jacket over his shoulders.

As he waits in the elevator, he wonders about his friends and their dinner party. The elevator slides down: _8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1_. Kihyun misses Hoseok and Jooheon. Now that he thinks about, it's been several weeks since he last saw them, since he couldn’t make their last party either. He laughs to himself as he leaves his office building, amused at his consistent inability to follow through with plans. He hails a cab, folding into the stench of clean leather and pine air freshener. It would be too easy to blame work and an over-filled schedule, but he knows that those are just excuses. The side of him that used to thrive in social gatherings and smiling laughter feels stunted, frayed around the edges. Everyone is always curious about his cases, asking if there’s another murder, another freak accident. Years ago, he felt pride in relinquishing obscure hints and morsels for those around him to eagerly consume. It made him interesting. Kihyun sighs and closes his eyes for the remainder of the trip home.

His apartment isn’t anything special. There’s exposed brick that spills to the brim with age, reds and browns giving stark contrast against too-white walls. A sunny yellow couch stands tucked into the corner, as bright and lovely as it was the day his ex-wife brought it home. He can’t properly say he hates it anymore.

He enters the kitchen, slinging his bag onto an open chair. On his table sits an unopened letter from his father. It arrived on Tuesday, as all of his father's letters do, the rest of them meticulously shoved into a kitchen drawer with gentle reserve. He rips it open, pulling out the handwritten letter to read its contents:

 

_My Dear Kihyun,_

_You won’t answer my phone calls. If I wasn’t so far away, I would have paid you a visit by now. My warnings are dire. Please don’t ignore me. They won’t ignore you. They’ve already found you. I’ve tried, tried my best to keep them at bay. They’re persistent you see. Dangerous, tricky things. Evil, rotten, demented creatures that bend at the oddest of angles. I see them every day, they haven’t gotten less. I’ve tried bargaining with them, pleading with them to spare you. They want you, for what I don’t know. Don’t answer any doors that knock at 3:00. Don’t let them into your home. You can tell when they’ve arrived by a distinct tapping, a nasty sound akin to hordes of rats. I wish they were just rats. Those damn rats. There’s too many of them. Or maybe not enough of them. Please, please don’t open your windows. They can get in that way too. They feed off dust. I love you. I wish my love was strong enough. Don’t let them in. Keep running. You can do that, right Kihyun? You always were such a fast one._

_With love, Dad_

 

The lights in his apartment suddenly seem too bright, too invasive. Kihyuns fingers tremble along the edges as he gently folds the letter, placing it among the dozens of others in the drawer. It’s always the same. If anything, his father’s only gotten worse, desperation constricting and mangling his manic words. Kihyun rarely responds anymore, feels a horrible sense of dread fill his throat at the mere thought. The nurses tell him it’s too much stimulation, that it’s best to limit contact to once every couple of months. They say the letters are good for his father, that it gives him a scheduled outlet. At this point, Kihyun has no choice but to believe them.

“Demons, creatures, and rats. I wonder if there’s a wikipedia page on how to deal with all three of them?” He laughs to himself, the sound echoing in his empty apartment, ricocheting off the old bricks and bright plaster.

He checks his phone and notices two missed calls and a text from Jooheon: _hey, still time to come over if ur free!! we’re missin u here!_

Staring at his yellow couch, Kihyun thinks about the new case and intertwined blue knuckles, thinks about his father and his friends and their dinner party. He thinks about the gentle thrumming of rain and the dizzy lights mangling water-streaked windows. Enough is enough.

_hey Jooheon, I'm coming over. see u soon._


	2. Parasites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first chapter done faster than anticipated, so here we are whoops

Standing in the break room, Kihyun idly observes the various sugar packets littered along the counter, shades of pink, white, and yellow in flimsy disarray. There’s refined sugar, raw sugar, stevia, some artificial sweeteners, and even a small container of simple syrup. He takes his time organizing them, setting them into their proper containers before delicately wiping the counter clean of residue. He really does hate the mess Shownu tends to leave behind him.

Behind him, the Keurig gurgles to life, spewing horrific noises that grate relentlessly against his ears. Picking up two packets of raw sugar, Kihyun turns around and unceremoniously dumps them both into the mug, followed by a steady stream of vanilla creamer. He never was a fan of black coffee. It’s too bitter, reminds him of lonely, run-down men and abandoned small-town diners. He watches the steam rise in dreamy wisps from his coffee and stares until they fade. Grabbing his “#1 Detective” mug, he leaves the break room.

Sunlight streams methodically into his office, bouncing vertical rays off his desk and assorted framed pictures. He watches as dust-laced air comes alive, shimmering and swaying in the stagnant room, light flecks of gold that seem to mock the motionless furniture. Kihyun chokes on gold, hacking his lungs until they clear and swats the air to scatter the dust.

Last night had been good. Jooheon and Hoseok had been beyond thrilled to see him, the former’s dimples as beautiful and magnetic as Kihyun last remembered. Hoseok had pulled him in tight, arms flexing as they wrapped around him -- an unspoken cage, a promise to never let him wander far again. The other guests were pleasant, people Kihyun had met here and there, vague names on the tip of his tongue that refused to form. A glass of deeply colored merlot in his hand, Kihyun had felt his throat loosen and his knees unlock. They never asked him about his job, and for that Kihyun was deeply grateful. There would be other times to think of bathtubs and bottles of pills.

In the kitchen, Jooheon had cornered him in, hip leaning against the counter and arms crossed with resolute conviction. The other man’s lips were pulled taut in a frown, and Kihyun found that he hated it.

“Are you good, Ki?” Jooheon had murmured, voice low but solid like cement weights.

Kihyun had opened his mouth, determined to say “Of course,” but nothing came out. He stood there, lips parted, thought of rats and shallow water and blood in a wine glass. Swallowing, he looked away, tracked the long shadows cast on the tiled walls.

“I’m not sure.” He answered honestly.

Jooheon had nodded, eyes soft and hands gentle, “You know you can tell us anything, you know that right?”

“Of course I do.” Kihyun replied, a lousy confirmation even to his own ears.

Leaning closer, Jooheon lowered his voice to a whisper, conscious of the way voices drifted by in the hallway, “Has he gotten worse?”

Kihyun nodded, a sigh pushing its way through his lips, shoulder tightening involuntarily, “He always gets worse."

The sky was heavy that night, and Kihyun dreamed of oddly bent limbs and dimples that merged into valleys.

In his office, Kihyun sips his coffee and starts over once again.

He spends hours reviewing the new case, compiling individual notes and observations provided by both the police investigation and coronary report. Shownu had informed him this morning that the police had forwarded the family’s request case to their firm, claiming their department couldn't provide more “time and resources” towards something with such a “straightforward conclusion.” That’s usually how things went for them. The police department would toss unwanted cases their way, mumbling half-assed excuses about small staff numbers and important investigations wringing their necks. Not that Kihyun had room to complain. He spent his whole life slaving over the law, earning his degree, devouring crime shows and news cases like a man starved. When he was young, his father used to show him police investigations in the paper, the two of them discussing the minute details of each case until their mouths ran dry. Kihyun’s head throbs under the fluorescent lights as he starts flipping through the documents.

He’s looking for consistencies, discrepancies, anything that pokes a minuscule hole in the ruling. There’s little out of the ordinary. Nothing stands out as clear foul-play at first glance, and Kihyun tastes iron in his mouth. On paper, the boys had committed suicide in an abandoned house, a grungy little place overgrown with throttling vines. Officers at the scene found several bottles of blue pills placed neatly in single-file line near the corner of the bathtub. The autopsy and lab reports revealed the pills consisted of highly concentrated  _Aconitum delphinifolium,_ a small and lovely blue flower, known to the common gardener as Larkspur monkshood. It was a rather unusual form of intentional poisoning, as no known vendors of such a pill exists on the open market. Kihyun pauses at that, turning towards his computer and pulling up the search bar. He reads the symptoms of Larkspur poisoning: heavy vomiting, intense pain, a burning sensation on the lips and in the mouth. The scene of death had a decisive lack of vomit and struggle. If anything, it seemed untouched outside the tub. The boys didn’t look like they had suffered, with their delicately entangled limbs and paper-thin eyelids. He jots it down, labeling it with a flourished “curious.” There is always a slim chance that the flower, in high enough dosage, could instantly cease motor function, skipping initial shock symptoms. Then, following such a shutdown, the boys simply drowned, water pouring easily down their unconscious throats.

Leaning forward on his desk, Kihyun rereads his initial notes, musing over flowers and water and abandoned houses. As he takes a sip of his coffee, he wonders how they managed to fill the bathtub, as plumbing to the house had surely been cut off for years. No buckets had been found at the scene. Very little water had been found around the tub itself.  _How odd._

He looks at the names of the deceased: Lee Minhyuk and Chae Hyungwon, both 19 and locals to the area. Two rather beautiful boys, smiles infectious as they peer up at Kihyun through the paper. Kihyun notes that only the Lee family requested the investigation.  _Why are the Chae's not as concerned? Did they see tell-tale signs that the Lee’s missed?_ Kihyun taps his pen on the paper. People do tend to believe whatever the police and coronary say.  _After all, their science and methods are fool-proof, right?_  Kihyun thinks dryly.

The next couple of pages are time stamps of the boy’s last appearances and consequent witness testimonies. A total of 11 people, it consists primarily of family members, some acquaintances, a couple of neighbors. According to the Lee family, the boys were leaving to go see a movie, something the two of them did often. They had been dating for two years and were quite taken with one another if Minhyuk’s parents were anything to go by. Hyungwon’s parents had much less to say, simply reporting they hadn't observed anything unusual before their son had left that day. They made no mention of Minhyuk. Kihyun hums thoughtfully and his pen scribbles quickly on the note-pad.

The friend’s and neighbor’s words are dismayed and subdued, but they offer standard time-based information about the boys’ deaths. They had shared a few texts here and there, before all contact cut off around 6:22 pm, around three hours before the boys had been found by some trespassing neighborhood kids, aged 11 and 12. The kids’ testimony is filled with trauma, with blurred images of drenched hair and wet skin, and they say they can’t remember much, that they ran like hunted animals and sobbed into their mother’s arms. Kihyun grimaces and swallows a mouthful of coffee.

There’s only one testimony between the hours of 6:23pm and 9:00pm, in the time where most communication had died out. The boys had been discovered on camera outside the movie theater, walking opposite from the road that led home. Police had tracked their movement through street cameras, watched them amble with determination through the shadows of flickering lamps and red trails of car lights. They had ended up at a small store, a place called “Intuition.” The paper reads:

 

_Intuition: a medium services store owned and operated by Im Changkyun. Consists of a small 3-person staff. Provides supernatural healing and “spiritual” communication services._

_Mr. Im was the only one in the building at 6:52pm when the victims arrived. The shop closes Monday-Friday at 7:00pm. The victims and Mr. Im are seen engaging in conversation. Mr. Lee disappears out of the camera range for 16 seconds and then reappears. He approaches Mr. Choi and grabs his arm. The victims are observed leaving at 7:15pm._

_Video footage shows Mr. Im did not leave the shop until 8:25pm. The coronary estimated that the official time of death was around 8:00pm, judging by the condition of the bodies when found. This gives Mr. Im a satisfactory alibi. Mr. Im willingly provided all video footage and cooperated with investigators to obtain witness testimony. When asked about the conversation he had with the two victims, Mr. Im said they wanted him to perform a service. He said he informed the two that the shop was closing and services required at least one hour of time. He said he mainly spoke with Mr. Chae. Mr. Lee seemed distant and reserved. He said he booked them for an appointment the following day, hence why the two victims stayed past closing. This is confirmed via video footage that seems to show Mr. Im inputting their information in his electronic scheduling system._

 

The police investigation seems thorough enough, with their diligent time stamps and video footage. He rereads the passage, lingering on the part where Minhyuk had vanished off camera.  _Where did he go?_ He taps his pen against his lip, mind conjuring images of bleach blonde hair floating amongst still water.  _Why had the boys gone to a medium, of all people, mere hours before their death?_

He knows young people found it entertaining to dabble in the unknown and forbidden, believed in lingering spirits that hid in the shadows begging to be seen. It made the world more mysterious and powerful, a dangerous escape from the stubborn predictability of their own lives. Kihyun feels a cold sweat creep down the back of his neck, unable to suppress the dread that slips like sticky oil through his organs. He’s always hated entertaining these concepts. They stink of paranoia and manipulation. They remind him of his father and his endless rambling of whispering orbs and twisted bodies.

He remembers _that_ day distinctly, a persistent, nagging parasite that borrowed its way into his memories.

June 21st, 2017. He’d come home for the weekend, baggage of the physical and mental kind trailing behind him with rhythmic reliability. Kihyun hadn't seen his father for three years, having been absorbed with his rapidly shifting career and subsequent relocation to a new city. The house was different than he had last recalled, darker, less comforting, and he instinctively felt uneasy. The walls were covered with oily smudges and the dishes piled high in the sink, overflowing with abandonment and old food remnants. The air smelled stale, rank even, and nausea simmered in his stomach as he made his way to the living room.

His father had been sitting still on their armchair, eyes distant. He didn’t greet Kihyun, even as front door clanged back into place, the noise ringing throughout the silent house. Tongue heavy as lead, Kihyun had hesitated, pins and needles prickling unpleasantly up his arms. He slowly moved in front of his father, squatting eye level with him, gazed into eyes that stayed persistently unfocused.

“Hey, Dad…” Kihyun said slowly, his limbs stiff, an unwelcome fear settling deep in his chest.

There was no response, just slow, laboured breathing, unnerving in its consistency. Holding his own breath, Kihyun had reached out, fingers wavering ever so slightly as he gently tapped his father’s shoulder. Still nothing. Swallowing the ripe panic pooling in his throat, he began to pull out his phone.

“Don’t do that.”

Kihyun’s eyes had snapped up, meeting his father’s own. His gaze was wide and wet, crusty and yellow around the edges. Leaning back out of instinct, Kihyun opened his mouth but his father cut him off.

“They’re here.” His father droned, words slipping off his tongue in a sickly, unnatural manner.

A pause, “Who’s here, Dad?” Kihyun asked hesitantly, careful to maintain eye contact in fear the vague emptiness would return.

“They don’t have names. That would make them human. I won't give them that honor.”

Breathing out slowly through his nose, Kihyun had put on a small smile and wiped at the sweat gathering at his temple, “Is this some kind of joke, Dad? It’s not very funny.”

His father’s eyes seemed to bulge, grotesque and blood-shot, and it took everything in Kihyun’s will not to recoil.

“Do you think I would joke about  _them_?” His father hissed, spit flying in bright flecks from between cracked lips, “I’m no fool.”

“I-I don’t know who  _they_  are.” Kihyun stuttered, taken aback by the force with which his father spoke. The air seemed colder and tasted bitter in his mouth.

His father blinked, and looked over Kihyun’s shoulder, focusing on something else as a tremor wracked his entire body. Fingers twitched and his head stiffened, veins protruding amongst tendons.

“Look around you, Kihyun. They’re everywhere.”

As Kihyun looked around, he saw nothing. The room was empty, as empty as it always was. When he turned back around, Kihyun realized that his father's gaze had found its way back to him.

"You're in danger, darling. You always will be."

His father shot out of the chair, hands clutching onto Kihyun’s biceps, nails digging unforgivingly into firm flesh. Struggling backward, Kihyun saw fear and blackness and desperation, and he screamed.

Kihyun had stumbled from the house, tears tangling his eyelashes, hands clutching his phone as choked words spilled from his mouth. A car streaked by on the road, strong bass pumping mind-numbingly loud before fading in the distance, leaving behind black exhaust that hovered before choking into his lungs.

Two days later, Kihyun stood outside an impressively large brick building, the windows covered by steel bars that shimmered under the summer sun. A few feet away, a large white sign read "Dearborn Institution" in beautiful black script, a stark contrast to the lush, green landscape that rolled and curled towards the horizon. Kihyun has stood still, listening to the birds sing sweetly among whistling leaves, and watched his father slowly walk between two white-clad nurses. His father's feet caught and dragged along the stone steps, and Kihyun looked away. There was nothing more he could do.

In his stuffy, dust-laced office, Kihyun closes his eyes, counts to ten, and thinks of his perfect yellow couch.

 

~~

 

It’s noon when there's a knock on Kihyun’s door. His mind churns with beautiful faces and shadowy ghosts, and he can’t help but think he might have imagined the sound.

“Come in,” He says, neatly re-stacking the papers littering across his desk.

Two people enter his office, a man and a woman. Their faces are unnaturally pale, dark shadows pooling under shiny eyes, and Kihyun already knows who they are.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lee, welcome.” He says, waving his at the two chairs across from his desk, “Please, take a seat.”

Mr. Lee slumps into the chair, shoulders curling in on themselves. His wife doesn’t sit down, instead placing her teeth-bitten fingernails on the back of the chair. Her fingers strain white and translucent.

“Call me Yunhee.” She states plainly. Her hair falls in haphazard curls around her face, and Kihyun feels her pain, can see the sleepless nights that paint her face weary.

Kihyun waits for her husband to introduce himself, but it never comes. The older man stares at the ground, hands folded gently in his lap. His name is Lee Youngjae. Kihyun had read it on the client sheet hours earlier.

Clearing his throat, Kihyun addresses them both, his elbows resting on the desk as he interlaces his fingers below his chin, “So, where do we begin?”

Yunhee’s breath falters, her chin wobbling ever so slightly before she speaks, “My son. Minhyuk. We just… need to be sure.”

Kihyun is silent for a heartbeat as he swallows, “Do you have any reason to suspect foul play, Yunhee?”

“Well, we don’t have proof. But-” She falters, her tone tilting down as it catches in her throat. Her lips settle into a firm line, “It’s suspicious, isn’t it? The fact that he went to...  _That_  place… hours before he…” she trails off.

Youngjae finishes her sentence, speaking up for the first time, “Died. Before he died. My son died hours after encountering that man.”

“What man?” Kihyun asks, although he already had a hunch.

“The one who owns that shop, the voodoo or occult place on Williams Street. He was the last one to see them alive, wasn’t he?” Youngjae breathes out.

Kihyun blinks slowly, digesting the thinly-veiled accusation, “The medium? The last witness?”

Yunhee nods, her nails clutching the leather chair with more urgency, “The police said he has an alibi. But he has to be involved  _somehow,_ doesn’t he? What are the odds?” Her voice starts to rise, frantic and tinged with instability, “Why would my boy go  _there_  of all places? I heard what the police recorded in their interview. He could be lying. The videotapes don’t have audio. Right? There’s something there, isn’t there?”

She cuts off with a dry sob. Her husband sits there and reaches a hand out to grasp her trembling fingers, but otherwise says nothing. Her muffled sobs fill the office space, fade into the dust hovering above their heads with each heavy exhale.

 _The medium,_ Kihyun thinks,  _the very last person to see the two boys alive. It’s not a bad start._

Kihyun reaches into his desk drawer, pulls out a small container of tissues and hands them over to Yunhee, who grips them weakly.

“Do the Chae’s feel the same way?” Kihyun asks, remembering the notes he had scratched on his pad.

Youngjae frowns, the corners of his lips tugging and dipping ever lower, “They believe the police, didn’t even question the result. We tried to get them to consider another investigation, but they said it would be pointless.”

“What do you think, Mr. Yoo-” Yunhee states before Kihyun cuts her off.

“Kihyun.”

“-Kihyun, then. What do you think?” her eyes bore into his, searching for something he can't provide, “Is this pointless? Do you think we’re fools, unable to let our own son go? Are we running after a dead-end, entertaining some sick sense of justice that doesn’t fucking exist?”

“Yunhee, I’m not sure I can answer that,” Kihyun states, his eyebrows tilting downward.

Leaning forward, Youngjae places his hand on top of Kihyun’s, startling him at the unusual proximity, “Tell us the truth, please. Do you think it’s worth looking into?”

Sighing, Kihyun considers telling them the reality, considers telling them that hoping for their son’s murder wasn’t justice, but just another stab to their wounds. That people die every single day under the most unremarkable of circumstances. That he thinks their guilt desperately wants to cling to someone, _anything,_  that can carry the blame so that they won't have to face themselves in the mirror and ask what they could have done differently. He wants to, but he doesn’t, because this is his job.

“Yes, I do.” Kihyun says carefully, hand still under the other man’s grip, “There are elements that could use more investigation. Regardless of the outcome, I believe I can bring you closure.”

Youngjae retracts his hand, nodding weakly before pushing himself out the chair. His wife continues to stare at Kihyun, the plea swimming unspoken in the air between them.

Standing up himself, Kihyun shakes both of their hands and guides them back towards the door, “I’ll look into the last witness if that’s what you want.”

Yunhee nods, lingering in the doorway, “Thank you, Kihyun.” Her face straightens out again, features smooth and unreadable before turning around with her husband, the door clicking shut behind them.

Kihyun looks out his window, watches the sun bleed liquid light along the edges of buildings, tracks a small swallow as it dips and dives between shallow alleyways. He wonders if he should view the Lee’s as desperate or determined, if they themselves truly knew what resided in their dead son’s heart. He wonders if ghosts could live in the sunshine, or if they remain tethered to the shadows, tainted and deformed by years of ever-fading memory. The swallow swoops behind a building one last time and disappears under the motionless sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are loved <3  
> *edited bc my dumbass spelled hyungwon's last name wrong im so sorry hyungwon omg


	3. Nothing More, Nothing Less

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy pride month and happy gemini season!!!

The Thai restaurant is peaceful, with soft chatterings of guests drifting through warm red decor. Kihyun stares as his half-eaten plate of pad thai, traces the twists of noodles that curl almost lovingly around chicken and soggy vegetables. Across from him, Shownu scoops up rice and curry in a hefty spoonful, chewing around the mixture with his eyes trained on the detective. The two of them haven’t spoken much, spewing occasional pleasantries every once in a while that fill the vacant space between them.

Kihyun loves working with Shownu, had been hired by the man 5 years ago and stuck around ever since. The two of them tend to focus on separate cases, Shownu dealing with more mundane personal investigations like tax fraud and infidelity, Kihyun taking care of those that dealt with missing peoples and stubborn homicides. It works rather well for them. Occasionally the two would work together for more encumbering cases, the ones that leak and whither with contradicting information and weak evidence. Not every case could be solved alone, of which they were both quite aware.

Shownu finishes his meal, carefully wiping his mouth clean before folding the cloth back onto the table. He clears his throat.

“So, what did the Lee’s have to say?”

Kihyun hums softly, “They want me to look into the last witness.”

Shownu lips purse in consideration, “The store owner? Interesting…”

“I think it’s a decent start, considering he has a pretty detailed witness testimony,” Kihyun says.

The two of them are silent, Shownu nodding slowly as he digests his words.

“I read your previous notes,” Shownu starts, waving his hand vaguely in the air, “The ones about the water in the tub. ‘Wonder why the police didn’t question it.”

Kihyun snorts, images of too-still water distilling behind his eyelids, “Let’s be real here, they didn’t even notice it. They saw a bathtub filled with water and thought ‘well that looks about right to me’ and moved along.”

Chuckling, Shownu takes a sip from his water. Kihyun watches the crystal drops of condensation as they slide down the glass.

“Fair enough... I’ll look into it, call up the police department and see what else I can find out,” Shownu grunts, shifting ever so slightly in his seat.

“Good plan,” Kihyun motions the waiter over to their table, “Try to figure out if there’s a running source of water within the immediate area,” He sighs, shaking his head lightly, “I’ll go ahead and pay the mysterious Mr.  _ Im Changkyun _ a visit. See what  _ that’s  _ all about.”

Shownu gives him a tilted smile, the water drops clinging to his fingertips, “Don’t come back a believer now, you hear me?”

Grimacing, Kihyun tosses his credit card onto the check as he pushes Shownu’s own card away in an elaborate flourish, “Don’t even joke about that. There’s enough shit ruining this city without that kind of place preying on people’s insecurities.”

“Well, people find comfort in different things,” Shownu explains gently, “It’s not up to us to judge them.”

Kihyun shrugs, jaw unreasonably tense, and he has to remind himself to relax, “I guess. Doesn’t make it any less of a dirty living.”

“People could say the same about us.”

“We uncover the truth.”

“We  _ also _ ruin people’s lives. Need I remind you what happened because of my last investigation?” He pauses, eyes growing serious, “That poor man ended up leaving his boyfriend once he found out I was tailing him. Turns out, he never even cheated in the first place. He was just shopping in secret for a fuckin’ engagement ring.” Shownu’s laugh is hollow, bitterness lacing the short exhale of breathe.

“But people  _ chose _ to come to us, we don’t encourage them to hire us.”

Shownu raises an eyebrow, waiting for Kihyun’s own words to hang heavy with understanding, the white noise from the restaurant deafening as it buzzes in Kihyun’s ears.

Kihyun blinks and averts his eyes, “I don’t like this conversation,” He says, voice bordering on a whine, and he’s all too aware of how childish he sounds.

Shownu laughs, a real one this time, reaching over the table to gently hit Kihyun’s shoulder, “You never do, huh?”

They collect their things and exit, leaving behind red drapes and bright porcelain plates, the rich aroma of simmering spice settling snugly into the fabric of their clothing. The two prepare to part ways, Shownu lingering behind, body relaxed, fingers unconsciously rubbing along the stitching of his jacket pockets.

“Don’t forget your manners with our witness, Kihyun.” Shownu says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. There are no creases lining his forehead. He walks away, folds naturally beneath the shadows of towering buildings, and Kihyun counts to 10.

The witness’ shop is a 20 minute train ride, a boring, unremarkable affair interrupted by streaming people and pitch-black tunnels. In the corner of the train car, a homeless woman sits curled up beneath a striped blanket, dirt caked under stained fingernails. She’s unresponsive to the jerky stops and starts that grace each station. Kihyun averts his gaze, as guilty as the rest of the shifty-brained passengers staring resolutely at the stained subway floor. The train’s brakes screech unforgivingly as they come to a stuttering halt once more. The city keeps churning.

Kihyun doesn’t look behind him, shoes clacking loudly against the concrete sidewalks. Above him, the sky is an endless baby blue, stretching on and on with the kind of clarity and richness that can only follow a storm. The air whispers promises of warmth, and Kihyun truly wants to believe it.

He turns the corner on William’s Street and the store rises modestly on his right, an inconspicuous thing with subdued writing and lightly tinted windows full of hazy sunlight. As he peers through the glass, Kihyun sees crystals and red strings dangling from the ceiling, candles wrapped in shimmering bronze adorning the shelves. A small wooden “open” sign hangs on the door. Kihyun can’t help but thinks it looks a little too cliche, but who is he to judge a medium’s choice of interior decorating. He hesitates in front of the door, hand hovering over the silver metal surface.  _ Video Footage,  _ he thinks and schools his face into something a little more serious, a little more confident.

He pushes the door open. The bell chime reverberates throughout the small space, ringing in his ears long after it ceases its movements. Before him, the shop seems empty, a home reserved only for the abundance of merchandise lining the walls and counters. Neat rows of tarot cards and multi-colored crystals sit comfortably on long tables, each item arranged with intricate care, obvious even to the untrained eye. Kihyun steps forward, breath soft and steady, and eyes a shelf with figurines resembling what he thinks are three-headed goats. Each one stretches in a different position, yellowish-orange stones glinting along the knobs of their spines. Their tongues loll out, an obscene red dripping past wrinkled jaws and ivory teeth. Eyes protrude wildly, blindly, and Kihyun feels bile rise in his throat. They’re hideous. He doesn’t know why his hair stands on end as he looks at them, or why his stomach churns uneasily, the pad thai threatening to spill past the tremors that wrack his lips. Hesitantly he reaches a hand out, index finger desperate to run along those brights stones, to see if they’re really as smooth as they look.

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” A deep voice cuts through his haze, and Kihyun pulls back, breath catching in his throat. The nausea drains from the pit of his stomach, and he wheezes softly before turning to face the owner of the voice.

He’s met with lidded black eyes and a rather straight nose. Gold earrings dangle from the stranger’s ears, hypnotic in nature, thin chains of metal that tremble gently with each breath. Kihyun can’t help but stare at the tattoo twisting around the man’s neck: a large, exquisitely detailed serpent, its body curling possessively across the man’s throat. The snake’s eyes stare back at him, a creature composed of ink and restrained by flesh, and Kihyun feels a bead of sweat roll down his back.

The other man clears his throat, pulling Kihyun’s eyes back up.

“Can I help you?” The man says, voice slow and meticulous, a passive face tainted with just a trace of curiosity.

Kihyun swallows roughly, “Hi, sorry, uh- yes,” He reaches his hand out to which the other gently takes, his hand warm and firm and unnervingly solid, “My name’s Yoo Kihyun.”

“Im Changkyun.”

A beat of silence. Kihyun’s eyebrows pinch together, “ _ You’re _ Im Changkyun?”

The other man laughs, a rich sound, the laugh of someone who’s never once restrained the tone or volume of his passion, never been told to lower his voice in hushed whispers, “I mean, I did say that was my name, didn’t I?” 

Tongue caught between his teeth, Kihyun regards the other with sharp eyes, “I guess so.”

Changkyun cocks his head, the bottom of his earrings swinging against his neck, “Expecting someone else?”

“I guess someone a bit…” Kihyun squints and lets his eyes travel down the other’s body, tracing the other’s long fur coat and ripped pants that curve around slim legs, “Older,” He finishes, “What are you, 21?”

“I’m 25, actually,” The other man’s eyelashes catch the light, fine lines of gold glitter tracing each eye, “Why?” He drops his voice to a whisper, as though unveiling a secret between the two of them, “You wanna ask me out?”

There’s teasing lilt to his voice, and Kihyun eyes widen, “Do you ask that to all your potential clients?”

“Only the cute ones.”

“God, that was bad,” Kihyun says, frowning.

Changkyun gives him a lopsided smile, hands absentmindedly fiddling with the chain hanging from the belt loops of his pants. Kihyun admires his long, slender fingers, his eyes drawn to each carefully painted nail.  _ How interesting. _

The other man turns around, not bothering to look back as he strolls to the counter. Kihyun follows instinctively, limbs feeling almost mechanical in nature.

Pulling out a small metal flower from behind the wooden structure, Changkyun places it gently on the surface, his thumb brushing over the tiny ridges that contour each petal.

“I figured you were coming in today, detective,” He murmurs, eyes boring into the small metallic ornament.

It takes Kihyun a minute to realize he’s talking to him, and he’s hesitant to respond, “You know me?”

“Not  _ you  _ necessarily, but what you’d do,” Changkyun says, thumb sliding lower and pressing into the flower’s stem.

A sense of unease licks up the detective’s spine. The tattooed snake on Changkyun’s neck stares at him, jaws wide, tongue curled with an odd sense of thinly veiled delight. Kihyun reaches out and touches the flower, watches the other still in his ministrations.

“You’re different than I expected,” The other man says, voice contemplative. He motions for Kihyun to pick up the flower. 

It’s cold and surprisingly heavy as it presses into his palm. He wonders who made such a lovely little thing, who took the time to delicately mold it’s curving petals and wilting leaves.

“You can keep it.” Changkyun smiles, eyes glittering under the  too-harsh lights.

Kihyun jerks back, his fingers folding over the metal object, tongue heavy as it rests against the back of his teeth. He tries to remember why he came here in the first place, the answer straining against his jaw.

“Who asked you to visit me?” Changkyun asks, his back to him as he rearranges some objects on shelves behind the counter.

At his words, Kihyun’s tongue finally unravels, “Excuse me?”

“Was it the Chae’s or the Lee’s?” The other continues.

Kihyun senses flood abruptly back to him, a sharp reminder to tread foreign territory ever so carefully.

“Why would you ask that?” He starts, vision tracing the slope of the other’s nose, lingering on the smooth dip of his lips and sharp contours of his jaw. The other man is beautiful, dangerously so, and blood heats his cheeks. The strange man is a witness, a potential suspect even, and Kihyun feels guilty for entertaining such thoughts.

“I knew one of them would inquire. I just couldn’t pinpoint a name.”

Kihyun cocks his head, “You knew, huh?” His grip on the metal flower tightens ever so slightly as he chuckles, “Lemme’ guess, some spirits told you.”

Changkyuns eyes are sharp as he looks over his shoulder, “It would do you well to respect the dead, Mr. Yoo. Especially in a place like this.”

“I deeply respect the dead, Mr. Im,” Kihyun murmurs, elbows resting lightly on the counter, “I wouldn’t work on homocides if I didn’t. What greater respect is there than to provide closure.”

Changkyun briefly stills. It’s a small hesitation, but Kihyun notices.

“Homicides, you say?” Changkyun turns around, now polishing a wooden box with deliberate circular strokes, “Wouldn’t this particular case be out of your field, then?”

“Maybe, maybe not. That’s why I’m here.”

The air around them is thick, murky to the point where Kihyun feels short of breath. The other’s eyes are dark, unreadable in expression and anticipation creeps through his limbs. Dropping the box on the shelf, Changkyun walks back to the counter, hands coming to rest mere inches from Kihyun’s elbows.

“Well then, Mr. Yoo, how may I be of assistance?”

Kihyun blinks, “I thought you would already have that answer, seeing that you were, ah, what did you say again? Expecting me?” He tries to keep the condescending lilt off his tongue. Judging by the twitch in the store owner’s lip, he isn’t very successful.

“Just because I know who you are, doesn’t mean I’m going to do your job for you.”

Sighing, Kihyun pulls out his badge and lies it on the counter facing up, “I’m a private investigator,” He states blandly.

“That much I already know, Mr. Yoo.”

Kihyun’s eyebrows raise on their own accord, irritation flooding through him at the man’s demeanor, “Oh? What happened to letting me do my job?”

“God, you’re more of a pain in the ass than I expected.”

“And you seem like a pretentious brat that makes a profit off people’s misery,” The words slip past Kihyun’s lips before he can stop them.  _ Ah, fuck. _ He can vividly imagine the look of disappointment on Shownu’s face.

He doesn’t miss the look of hurt that briefly flashes across Changkyun’s face before he schools it into something cold and unearthly. Kihyun feels a sense of loss, an emptiness he refuses to name. It claws at his stomach and glides slippery through his guts.

“I help people communicate with their loved ones. People who’ve passed on but might not be truly gone.” Changkyun grinds out, jaw working as he chooses his next words, “People who can’t move on sometimes need a different kind of closure than the one  _ you _ provide. So I give that to them.”

“Are you honest?”

Changkyun visibly bristles, “Why would I lie?”

“Plenty of people do.”

“Well I don’t.” Changkyuns eyes are fire, blackened coals that glow hot with non-existent flames.

Kihyun finds himself taking an involuntary step back, the metal flower straining against his knuckles as pain laces through his temples. Something seems to crawl out from the recesses of his mind, with teeth that shine unnaturally white and wide, something with a hunger he can’t comprehend. He thinks of rats and hands that dig into flesh, crescent marks blooming in their place, sees water that churns with a color so black it doesn’t have shape.  _ You're in danger, darling. You always will be. _

There’s a soft touch on the back of his neck. Kihyun’s eyes snap open, breath pushing raggedly from his chest. He finds himself gazing into eyes that no longer burn.  The pressure on his neck doesn’t go away.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Changkyun murmurs, face gentle as he runs his fingers lightly over Kihyun’s nape. There’s no mockery in his voice, “You have no idea, do you?”

Kihyun struggles to speak as the images slowly fade beneath his eyelids, “I-I don’t understand...” He tries to pull away, “What the  _ fuck _ did you just do to me?”

“I honestly didn’t mean to,” Changkyun sighs, withdrawing his hand, “I let my energy get the best of me. Something in you reacted to it.”

Kihyun realizes that they’re standing in the middle of the room, far away from the counter, and he feels sick.

“What do you _mean_ ?” He thinks he might have lost his mind. What were they even talking about? There’s a nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him to divert the attention, return his focus to the case he was hired to solve, but his memory is blurry and faded around its edges.

“I don’t know exactly,” Changkyun’s gaze is thoughtful as it flits over Kihyun’s features, “But you were brought to me for a reason.”

Kihyun’s head pounds as he stares incredulously at the man in front of him, “I’m here to investigate a case, Mr. Im. Nothing more, nothing less.”

At that, Changkyun truly laughs, a sound so unrestrained and beautiful and dangerous that Kihyun knows he must have actually lost his mind.

“Now, Mr. Yoo. You of all people should know,  _ nothing _ is ever as straightforward as it seems.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact when i was writing this i kept spelling homicide as homocide and almost didn't catch it even though spell check was on...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading <3


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